


Subtleties

by Fragged



Series: Basic Needs [4]
Category: Stargate Universe
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-09
Updated: 2015-05-09
Packaged: 2018-03-29 03:57:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3881395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fragged/pseuds/Fragged
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A look at Young and Rush through the eyes of others.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Subtleties

**Author's Note:**

> Heavily inspired by [whereismygarden](http://archiveofourown.org/users/whereismygarden/pseuds/whereismygarden)'s [Discovery](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3463769), which is awesome.

**Eli**

He's pretty close to actually rolling his eyes when Rush makes a weak-ass excuse and exits the control interface room with Young in tow. It's not like he can't _hear_ the door to the storage unit adjacent to the CI room whir open and shut, and the muffled stumbling a few seconds later is probably quiet enough to be drowned out by Park and Volker's banter, but he can still make it out _way_ too easily. 

Idiots. 

He tries to ignore it for a while, tries not to feel flustered and heated at the thought of Rush and Young doing... he doesn't even want to know what they're doing in there, actually. 

Brody, Park, and Volker look up as one when a dull thud reverberates through the metal of the wall plating. 

“What was that?” Park asks, and it's so hard not to roll his eyes right then, because _seriously, guys_? He can't believe it is now up to _him_ to keep their illicit little affair a secret from the rest of the science team. 

“It's probably one of the air vents or something,” he lies. 

Brody gives him a dry look, and Eli has no idea whether Brody knows more than he lets on or whether that's just his face. 

“Maybe I should take a look at it, then,” he says. 

“Yeah,” Eli answers, turning back to his console and manipulating one of the internal power conductor displays into projecting an error message. “Wait, something is going on in the sublight engine room,” he says, and he's not sure whether to be proud that he's getting sneakier, or ashamed that Rush is rubbing off on him. 

Oh God. Phrasing. Ew.

As he herds the science team out of the CI room – letting Lisa hold onto his elbow so she won't bump into anything – he sends a dark glare towards the storage unit. Rush owes him. Seriously. 

 

**Telford**

He doesn't tell anyone, after finding out. 

He has so much to atone for, so many things he remembers doing... he doesn't need to ruin his last friendship over a childish crush. So, fine, maybe their friendship isn't as close to a friendship as it once was. And maybe his childish crush is closer to the deeply repressed kind of unrequited love dusty poets like to ruminate on. The point stands. 

Still, though, the thought of Everett and Rush does something complicated with his innards. 

It's not just that he doesn't see how Everett can have fallen in love with the unmanageable, secretive, lying little bastard that Rush is – although that _does_ baffle him – but that he can't understand why he'd let Everett slip through his fingers without even putting up the pretense of a fight. He'd gone into it thinking Everett was straight. 

He'd been straight when they met at AFROTC. He'd been straight when he married Emily. He'd been straight when he had that seriously ill-advised affair with Lieutenant Johansen – and Telford is starting to think that Everett is just caught in a loop of ever worsening partner choices, because if you ask him, he somehow managed to find an even _less_ appropriate lover in Rush – but yeah. He'd been _straight_. 

Except now it turns out that he isn't. He wasn't, all this time, and why did David never _try_? Why did he never so much as just ask, point blank? He could've done that without implicating himself. And if he'd known, if he'd _known_ , he would've done things differently. 

God, maybe he wouldn't have made Everett happy, maybe his best friend deserves better than a fucking jerk like himself, but it's not like _Rush_ is better. Goddammit, he should've done something sooner. 

David groans and lets his head fall back against the couch. 

A pint of mint-chocolate chip ice cream is melting in his lap, and he doesn't care that it's all very Sex and the City of him – this is the first time he's ever had his heart broken, and he feels like shit. He can eat ice cream and watch Tango & Cash over and over again if it makes him feel better. 

 

**Camile**

She feels a surge of exasperated amusement rush through her chest at the way those two bumble around each other. Honestly, they're about as subtle as a pair of flying bricks, and the only reason half the ship hasn't caught on yet is because they are too preoccupied with their own little romantic dramas, or just because most people prefer to live life with their eyes half-closed, refusing to see the things right in front of them simply because they don't fit in with their world views. She's familiar with those people. 

Still, watching Rush and Young pretend not to stand too close together, not to pay each other too much attention in a room full of people, not to react too eagerly when their radio chimes and the other person's voice crackles over the staticky connection... it's a source of entertainment on a ship that is very sparse on entertainment. And it's a little sweet, sometimes. 

She doesn't know exactly how it came to be, but she's quite sure it was sometime before they mounted the secondary weapon systems. Although she'd seen it coming long before that. Even when they were constantly fighting there had been something between those two, an undercurrent of heated passion that had always seemed about more than simple dislike. This, this almost tender, careful thing they're building between them now, is a marked improvement from when they first came here, and she's glad. She's happy, for both of them, because she knows there's a good chance this can work between them. They've already seen the worst of each other, and they've already buried more than one hatchet. They can make this work.

The three of them are in Young's quarters now, for a morning briefing. Young lets her close it with a short summary of the assigned tasks they've just discussed, and she feels accomplished and satisfied at how well they've all managed to make this work. 

“Huh,” she says, raising one eyebrow. 

“What is it?” Young asks. 

“Nicholas,” she says, turning to Rush with feigned innocence. “Isn't that one of your notebooks, on the Colonel's nightstand?” 

The silence that follows is deafening, and Camile smiles. She's happy for them. 

But maybe she enjoys watching them squirm a little every now and then, as well. 

 

**Volker**

“Do you ever get the feeling...” he asks. 

“Yeah,” Brody says, not even looking up from where he's measuring the alcohol content of his latest batch of distilled spirits. 

“You mean, yeah, you get that feeling, or yeah, it's true?” 

“The latter.” 

“Huh.” Volker snorts out a laugh and shakes his head. “Oh, man. Poor Young.” 

 

**Chloe**

She suspects long before she sees actual proof. It's not because they're suddenly nice to each other; they don't even argue less than before. But there's something about the way Rush looks at Young – just as avidly as before, but somehow warmer. And even more telling are the times when Rush _doesn't_ look at Young. When he keeps working or talking or drinking his tea, as Young crowds him a little bit in that same way he's done since their early days on Destiny. Rush will just keep doing what he's doing, like he's at ease, like he doesn't feel the need to keep an eye on Young, or to prove to him that he isn't intimidated, and that is a huge clue, right there. 

But it isn't until she and Rush find themselves stranded on a planet, running for their lives from the sentient vines that keep trying to grab and strangle them, that she sees the actual evidence with her own eyes. 

They make it back to the gate, scratched and bruised and breathing hard, knowing that they're too late, that Destiny has already jumped, and Young is there with his back to them, trying to call them on the radio they'd lost somewhere in that jungle. He hoists his backpack higher on his shoulder and turns around, rifle in his hands – and she wonders if he was really planning on searching for them on his own – when he spots them. 

“You're okay,” he breathes, and he says it to both of them, but he doesn't take his eyes off Rush. 

“Yeah, peachy,” Rush answers flippantly. She can hear the satisfaction in his voice, though, and when she glances at him she catches the small smile on his face. 

“Jesus, Rush. Don't _do_ that,” Young says, and it takes her aback, the amount of emotion Colonel Young manages to fit into that gravelly tone. With a few steps, he's in front of Rush, and he clamps his free hand into the crook of Rush's elbow like he can't stop himself from confirming that Rush is really there. 

“Colonel,” Rush says in a low voice, and he flicks his eyes over to her. She almost never sees him self-conscious, and suddenly she feels like she's intruding. She wants to give them their moment, but she also wants to let Rush know it's okay, so she sends him an encouraging smile and a small nod, before deliberately turning her back and taking a few steps away. 

For a moment, everything is unnaturally quiet, until she hears the slight rustle of fabric on fabric, and a murmured, “Thought you were dead, you jackass.” 

Chloe feels her lips quirk into a grin, because of _course_... they're still averaging five impossible things per week since coming to the ship. She's a bit shocked to hear them kissing, though – the soft sound of lips parting and coming together, the slick slide of tongues rubbing against each other, the telltale hitch of a breath – and she's quite sure that was Rush. She's so tempted to turn around right then, because for some reason she wants to _see_. 

She doesn't, though. She respects their privacy, and it isn't long before they break away. She hears another rustle of clothes, and then Young clears his throat. 

She turns around, and Young gives her a look that is a little sheepish. It's almost cute, and she can't help the blush that creeps onto her face. 

“Glad to have you back, Chloe,” Young says. She can tell that he means it, and she can see the gratitude in the way he looks at her. 

Rush has angled his face down, away from her, but she's glad to see that the uncharacteristic demureness doesn't last long. 

“How long before Destiny drops out again?” he asks, shrugging and shaking his hair out of his eyes. 

“She jumped ten minutes ago,” Young answers, and everything is back to normal. 

Well, as normal as it ever gets on this side of the universe. 

 

**Scott**

When they lose Chloe and Rush on the jungle planet with the carnivorous plant life, Young comes as close to losing it as Matt has ever seen from him – well, aside from the time with the battle simulation, but Matt doesn't like to think about that. 

“Sir, let me come,” he argues. Chloe is there. _Chloe_ is there, and he has to get her back. 

“You f—” Young cuts himself off and heaves out a hard breath. Matt is scared, because an unpleasant voice in the back of his head whispers Young was going to say 'You fucking lost them!' Because he _did_. It was under _his_ command that the team got attacked, that they split up, and Rush and Chloe were gone before he'd even managed to cut Thompson loose from the vine trying to strangle him to death. The idea that Young blames him, though, feels like something sharp lodging itself deep inside his heart. A poison dart, seeping regret and guilt and resentment. 

Young pulls it out too easily – still always much too easily – by clamping his hand down on Matt's arm and bending closer to him. “You're needed here, Scott. You're the one who's going to keep these people safe if I don't make it back.” 

“At least take a team,” Matt pleads, because this is madness, this isn't rational. This is emotion trumping reason, and Matt had known Young cares, obviously, but he's still surprised by how much. 

“I'm not risking anyone else,” Young says, and there's a finality to his tone that means he's not going to change his mind. Matt wishes Greer was here right now – he'd know what to say, he'd defy Young's orders and join him if he thought it was the right thing to do – but Greer is on the bridge, and he can't help. 

“Sir...” 

“That's an order, Lieutenant,” Young commands, and then he's grabbing his kit and jumping into the puddle. Only seconds later, the connection closes and Destiny shoots back into FTL. 

For four torturous hours, Matt is sick to his stomach with the thought that he's lost them both, Chloe and Colonel Young, and the relief he feels when they step through the gate nearly overwhelms him. Rush and Young stand close together as Chloe wraps her arms around him and lets him kiss her, and in hindsight Matt thinks he should've questioned it more, why Young almost lost his mind when Chloe and Rush seemed to be lost. 

Sometimes Matt sees things, innocent little things that don't amount to much until he starts putting everything together. Rush's knuckles bumping into Young's hand as they walk side by side down a corridor. Young sitting down with Rush for dinner in the mess. Barbs thrown back and forth that seem more playful and less prickly than they ever used to be. 

Matt doesn't start to put everything together, though, until he's faced with something so huge he can't deny it anymore. 

He walks in on something unexpected. Rush and Dunning – no, wait, that's Telford – are fighting. Rush's back is against the wall, and his breath is heaving. He's looking scandalized and furious, and Telford is bent over, gingerly touching his eye socket before straightening up again. Matt is just about to step forward, to intervene, when Rush speaks. 

“Back the fuck off. Young is _mine_.” 

Matt feels something hot and uncomfortable skitter down his spine, because that's... that's pretty hard to take any other way than the one he's taking it right now, isn't it? 

He stays back, in the shadows of the corridor, until he's sure Telford won't attack Rush again, or the other way around. 

“He's too good for you,” Telford says, and silently, Matt agrees with all his heart. Rush snorts. 

“He's too good for you, too.” 

Everything is quiet for almost an entire minute. It doesn't seem like either of them is inclined to say any more, and Matt thinks he should walk in now, cool, casual, like he didn't just overhear something that's making his stomach tie itself in knots and his head spin.

He can't. He probably can't even string together five words into a coherent sentence right now, so instead he sneaks away, back out of the corridor. 

Later, when he's had time to think it over, he realizes it has been staring him in the face for a while now. 

When he talks to Chloe about it, her eyes are understanding – _too_ understanding – he thinks she knows everything that's going through his mind right now and it scares the bejeezus out of him. But she squeezes his hand and gives him a reassuring smile, and his heart stutters, because how did he ever get so lucky to find someone like her? 

She says, “You have to trust that Colonel Young knows what he's doing. If he chose to be with Rush, he probably has good reason.” 

Matt closes his eyes and lets her words wash over him as he tries to fall asleep. 

He trusts Young. He does. He trusts Young. 

He'll trust him with this. 

 

**TJ**

She's pretty sure she's one of the last ones to catch on, and it's not because she doesn't care, but because she's been kind of going through her own thing, here. What with finding out she's going to get sick somewhere in the next few years, and Varro, and James... it's not like she's had a lot of time to contemplate Colonel Young's love life, lately. 

There are clues, though. Clues that, when she finally adds them up, stare her in the face with a kind of unbelievable obviousness. 

They find a type of vegetable on a planet – it looks like a plum, but when the tough peel is punctured, a clear, jelly-like substance comes out. Inman informs them it has barely any nutritional value, but people quickly discover it makes for a rather effective lubricant. Tamara uses the stuff for an emergency endoscopy, and finds a number of other uses for it, mainly as a carrier agent for topical analgesics and anti-inflammatory ointments. From then on, Park and Volker make sure to bring her several pounds of the plums every time they harvest them from the lab. 

She's reasonably sure Rush occasionally steals some of the stuff from her. He's not the only one who uses it for... personal reasons, but he's the only one who doesn't just ask. She finds it kind of funny, and it's not like they don't have enough of the jelly to go around, so she doesn't call him on it. 

Young starts touching her more, but when he puts his hand on her arm, or on her back, it doesn't make her feel as weak-kneed, as fluttery, as it used to. She thinks it's because she's starting to let him go, but in hindsight she thinks maybe it's also because those touches aren't as filled with longing anymore. He touches her like he touches Greer, like he touches Scott – with care, but without any deeper meaning. 

Rush talks to her with a combination of sympathy and irritability, and she doesn't really get what he's trying to say, so she focuses on sterilizing the wound on his arm. He hisses, and then continues. He sounds almost understanding when he says, “The past is behind us. Everyone would be better off if we let it go and move forward.” 

She meticulously sews in eight double stitches and thinks of something to reply. When she finally says, “Yeah. Destiny appears to have her own plans for us,” he seems to relax fractionally in her hands. A few minutes later, Young comes in to check on her progress, and his eyes land on Rush first. He focuses on her for her damage report, but his gaze keeps snapping back to Rush. She wonders when he stopped being so circumspect about his worry for their chief scientist. 

It takes her embarrassingly long to put two and two together, but when she does, she finds she's more amused by it than anything. Maybe it would've been harder if her bed wasn't already warmed, if she didn't have soft whispers and silky skin against her own in the darkness of night. But she does, almost more than she knows what to do with, and it's better than anything she's ever had before. 

She will always love Everett, to some extent, but she doesn't want him anymore. 

It makes her feel deeply glad to think it might be the same for him. 

 

**Greer**

“I think Colonel Young and Rush are together,” he says, and he's not sure how she keeps pulling these things out of him, because the old Ronald would have been perfectly content keeping that little nugget inside to fester. 

“Oh, honey,” she says, and he can hear the smile in her voice, and he knows that she's making fun of him, but it doesn't really matter when she drapes her arms around his shoulders. “Yeah. They really, really are.” 

He groans and lets his head fall back onto her shoulder. 

“You knew?” he asks. 

She huffs out a breath and kisses his temple. “I thought it was one of those things everyone knows and no one talks about. They're pretty bad at not being incredibly obvious.” 

“Man...” 

“How did you find out?” she asks, and he tries not to get too distracted by the way her fingers trace idle patterns down his chest. 

“I saw them,” he says. 

He'd been wandering the corridors, looking for Lisa, actually, when he'd poked his head inside the bridge. Young was there, in the command chair, and Rush was talking, pacing behind the chair with the kind of barely contained energy that meant he was excited, or worried, about something. 

He was just about to greet them, to ask if they knew where Lisa was, when Young said Rush's name, low and quiet, and Rush just _stopped_. It was with a strange sense of trepidation and disbelief that he watched Rush step closer to the command chair and reach out a hand for Young's neck. 

He couldn't do much more than blink stupidly as Rush slipped his fingers down the back of Young's jacket, not necessarily sexual, but proprietary in a way that spoke volumes. Rush murmured something too low for Ron to hear, and he was hit by the realization that he should back away, quietly, when he heard Young's chuckle, warm and amused. 

Shit, when had that happened? When had Young gone from distrusting Rush to... what exactly had he witnessed, even? It seemed like more than friendship – it was too intimate, the touch too possessive, to be innocent. 

So now he's left with the same question circling around in his head: has Rush changed, or has Young lost his mind? Because he'd follow the man into an active volcano, but he can't understand how he could choose to be with Rush. Rush has proven time and time again that he's the least trustworthy person aboard the ship, and more than once have his lies hurt Young. More than once. Rush is not someone who can be trusted. It's not even that he blames the man for that anymore – it's just who he is – but if Colonel Young loses sight of that... he could get hurt. Ron doesn't want that to happen.

He realizes he's worried. He's worried for Young. 

“Is it really that big a deal for you?” Lisa asks, and she's scratching her fingertips through the shorn hair on his head now, gentle and calming. 

“I worry,” he says. “About the Colonel.” 

She hooks her head over his shoulder and lets the hand on his chest wander lower. 

“Don't,” she says, pressing a kiss into the skin behind his ear. Her fingers are playing dangerously low, slipping inside the waistband of his pants. “Rush is in way over his head.” 

And that... that does make him feel better. Lisa is smart, she knows people – if she says it's true, it _is_ – and the idea that Young has the upper hand, here, that's all he really needs to know. 

He runs his fingers through her hair, and smiles as she finally turns his face to hers for a kiss. 

 

**Rush**

“With me,” Young growls, and drags Rush out of the bridge with a firm grip on his sleeve. 

“What the hell?” Rush yelps indignantly, and when they're in the corridor, out of earshot, he hisses, “So much for discretion.” 

“Oh, come on, everyone knows, Rush,” Young says, with the kind of eye roll that means he really believes that, and shit. _He_ sure as fuck hadn't known that. Everyone? 

He doesn't get much time to contemplate the implications of that, because the next thing he knows Young is poking a finger into his chest. 

“Telford _kissed_ you?!” 

And of course, that's why Young is so upset. 

“Well, that's a bit of an over-dramatization,” he says, keeping his voice laconic. Because it's been a while since he's felt this thrill – this dark, shuddery fear and anticipation that comes over him when Young is angry. 

“What the hell was it, then?” Young asks, taking Rush's wrist in his grip and yanking him into one of the conference rooms that line the walls of the main corridor. 

Rush lets himself be pulled inside, and then twists his hand out of Young's grip to lean casually against the wall and cross his arms over his chest. 

“Calm down,” he says, knowing it will only rile Young up more. 

“Rush,” Young says, and he sounds frustrated, pissed off, even, but he also sounds a little plaintive. 

“He was confused. Said he didn't understand the appeal.” 

“That _shit_!” Young curses, and paces a few steps closer to the door before coming back to Rush. “What the hell is wrong with him?! I'm going to report him for assaulting a civilian.” 

Rush feels his expression slip into a small smile. He puts his hand on Young's arm to still him. “Don't. He's having a hard enough time.” 

“You're defending him?” Young asks. He sounds outraged. “He attacked you!” 

Rush tightens his grip on Young's arm a bit. “I wasn't the one he wanted, Colonel.” 

It was clear to anyone with half a brain that Telford had been moping since finding out about them, and on his last visit, the man had as good as admitted that he had feelings for Young. While Rush had felt a vicious stab of satisfaction at the knowledge that he'd stolen Young away from right under Telford's nose – and he has no doubts that Telford would've had a good chance if only he'd gotten over his internalized homophobia long enough to actually _try_ – he could see Telford was a bit of a mess over the loss. 

The colonel had wavered, had gone from intensely lost to deeply agitated, and when Rush had pushed him a bit too far the man had shoved him up against a wall and snarled that he couldn't understand why Young had chosen someone as fucked up as Rush. And then he'd kissed him. 

Rush had kneed him in the balls, and punched him for good measure. But that made them even. There is no need for Young to get involved. 

It was careless of him to drop a reference to it so casually while they were on the bridge. 

Reckless. 

Perhaps he'd done it with a specific outcome in mind. 

“I can still taste him,” he says, and Young's head comes up like he's been hit by a rock. 

“What?” 

“He was quite...” He hesitates, like it's paining him to admit this. “Quite a good kisser, honestly.” That's a lie – it had been a snarling clash of teeth more than anything. But saying that is not really going to advance his plot, now is it?

Young's eyes darken, and Rush feels his heart flutter in his throat. _Yes_. 

“Rush,” Young says, voice rumbling and low. “Are you baiting me?” 

“Now why would I do that?” 

Young is on him before he can say anything else, grabbing his face and licking into his mouth with the kind of desperate conviction that means he's trying to make a point, that he's trying to convince Rush to yield to him, and _only_ him – and it's been a while since he's seen this side of Young. 

It's not that it isn't what he wants, those gentle, sweet touches. The tender kisses and the careful moves – it's amazing, truthfully. It's bloody intense, to see that side to a man he'd previously barely thought capable of love at all. 

But this – this aggressive, passionate dueling... sometimes this is good, too. 

“You want me to be jealous? To play the possessive boyfriend?” Young grunts into his ear, pressing Rush further back into the wall with the heavy weight of his chest. 

“Yeah, come on,” Rush pants, scratching his nails into the back of Young's neck. “Tell me who I belong to.” 

“You're _mine_ ,” Young says, before biting his way down Rush's throat. He sucks a hard kiss into the place where his neck and shoulder join, and Rush hears himself groan deeply. 

“Fuck me,” he demands, or asks, or begs, he isn't certain. “On the table.”

Young's face comes up, eyes snapping to Rush's own with a dark kind of intensity that takes his breath away. A small smile tugs on Young's lips, and Rush thinks he looks perfect – playful, and turned on, and _dangerous_. 

“I'll fuck you anywhere you want, Rush. All you had to do was ask,” he says, walking them over to the conference table. His hands are everywhere – in Rush's hair, on his fully-clothed prick, under his shirts, right before yanking them off over his head – and Rush can't help how much being manhandled like this is turning him on. He lets Young position him just the way he wants, forearms braced on the table and arse sticking out. 

“Left pocket,” he says, trying not to move when Young's fingers root around for the small jar in his pocket, and Christ, he's the type of man who carries lube around, now. That's the person he's become. 

Young clacks the little pot down on the table and with a few, practiced flicks of his fingers, he opens Rush's jeans and works them to halfway down his thighs. Young's fingers are on his lower back, kneading and gliding over the skin in a way that feels nice, but not enough, and then his hands are gone and Young is taking the lube and spreading it over his fingers. 

“Jesus, _finally_. I was beginning to think you'd never take the hint,” Rush says, taunting, hoping for a reaction. He doesn't expect Young to push his arm down hard on his lower back, limiting his movements. He feels trapped, unable to escape, and it elicits an instinctive shiver of fear – because Young is stronger, Young has all the control here, and Christ, Young could do whatever he wanted and Rush wouldn't be able to stop him at all. 

“Fuck!” he cries, when Young decisively works two fingers inside of him. His hips jerk, but to no avail. Young's arm doesn't budge. He's held still. He can't go anywhere, and he doesn't _want_ to, but the fingers are just this side of rough, and there's always that one second where he thinks he can't do this, it won't _fit_ , and that second stretches out into an excruciating eternity now that he feels like there's absolutely no escape. His shoulders drop and his head falls onto his forearms. “Fuck. _Fuck_! _Jesus_!” 

“Anyone could walk in right now,” Young rumbles, twisting his fingers open wide. “Anyone could walk in and see you splayed out like this.” 

“You said everyone already knows,” he answers, much too slowly. He tries his best to ignore how strangled his voice sounds. Christ, Young's fingers feel huge, but he knows that his cock is even bigger, knows it will make him feel full enough that he'll gasp for breath, and he wants it so fucking bad he thinks he could cry. 

“Knowing isn't the same as seeing,” Young says, leaning forward to bite sharply at Rush's shoulder blade. “They'll see, though. Who you belong to.” 

He isn't sure what is turning him on more, Young's fingers, or his words, or his teeth, but fuck, he feels like he's about two seconds away from coming. 

“You want me to take you right here?” Young asks, lips against his skin. 

“Yeah. Fuck, yes,” he groans, and he doesn't care he lets out a high yelp when Young pushes in a third finger, opening him up further. 

God, it almost hurts, how far Young is stretching him, and he can't help the keening sound he makes when Young scissors his fingers open before pushing further in, down against his prostate. 

“Think you're ready?” Young asks, draping his chest over Rush's back in a way that feels even more like being trapped underneath a hot, heavy rubble of stone. The coarse fabric of his uniform jacket scratches against the skin of his back.

“Christ, are you going to keep talking or are you going to fuck me already?” Rush bites out, and Young replies by nipping the back of his neck and pressing harder against that little bundle of nerves inside him. 

“I'm still deciding,” Young drawls, lips against the side of his throat. 

“Yeah?” Rush answers. “I promise you we'll both like it a lot better if you just put your cock inside me, Colonel.” 

Young laughs, low and breathy, and Rush can feel the tickle of it against the skin of his neck. 

“Alright, as you wish,” he says, and then he's retracting his fingers, leaving Rush feeling gaping and empty. He only registers it on a subconscious level, that Young is opening his own trousers and grabbing more of the lube to spread over himself, before the thick, hot head of his prick is pressing up against his opening. 

“Fuck, do it,” Rush grits out, and he pushes back just as Young moves forward. They both groan when Young enters him a little faster than is entirely comfortable, and then Young is grabbing his hips and sliding further into him, and all he can do is let out a loud moan as his fingers scrabble uselessly against the flat surface of the table. 

He feels stretched open and spread out, and the thought that anyone could just barge in right now makes the whole thing feel even more intense. 

Young sets up a slow rhythm, in and out, and Rush wants to stay like this forever, but he also wants Young to speed up already, so he cants his hips and pushes back hard, and _fuck_ , that's deep. 

Young lets out a small sound and then tightens his grip on Rush's hips. “You want it rough?” 

He doesn't have it in him to do more than let his head fall onto his forearms and moan, and Young takes it for the consent that it is, plunging in deep, and fast, and _hard_. Fuck, yeah, it feels like Young is staking his claim, and he _is_ , and goddamn, the thought of that does more to Rush than it probably should. His cock throbs as it bounces with the force of Young's thrusts. 

The next thing he knows Young's hand leaves his hip and darts lower to tighten around his prick, and then it's truly impossible to hold back his voice. 

The pleasure crescendos embarrassingly fast as Young keeps fucking into him, his hand making quick, sweeping strokes in time with his hips, and Rush finds himself arching into Young's heat, fingers curling against the smooth surface of the table, and stomach muscles clenching as his orgasm overtakes him. 

God, _yes_ , this was what he wanted the minute he laid eyes on Young on the bridge, and he squeezes his eyes shut as hot bursts of desire and affection flit along his spine to the very edges of his being. “Young,” he breathes out, feeling like all his joints have turned into elastic. 

“Jesus, you should see yourself,” Young bites out, and his hips stutter twice before he lets out a low groan and empties himself inside Rush. It sends a shudder through him to think that Young is coming, unable to hold back in the face of this, in the face of _him_ , and he lets out another hard breath. 

A few seconds later, Young lets his chest land on Rush's back, his weight heavy and limiting Rush's movements once again. He can't complain, because he finds he likes it, being constrained between Young and the table, and then Young is brushing his hair to the side and kissing his throat, and that is even better. 

“Good?” Young asks, and Rush feels compelled to huff out a laugh. Because Young can fuck like a champion, but the fact that he still wants to know if his performance was up to par is kind of endearing in its own right. 

“Yeah,” he answers, lifting one of his hands over his head to run his fingers through the hair on the back of Young's head. “Yeah.”

He finds himself grimacing slightly when Young pulls out. They didn't use a condom – it's getting nearly impossible to even find them aboard the ship – which means he's left with the unpleasant reality of having Young's semen dripping out of him. 

Young's weight lifts from his back, but Rush feels content staying exactly where he is a while longer, basking in the afterglow of what they just did. He hears the rustling of fabric, and then feels soft-worn cotton cleaning up the mess of quickly cooling come on his backside. Young moves the cloth to his front and wipes up his cock before mopping the rest of his come off the table leg. Rush hums appreciatively as Young pulls his underwear back up and buttons up his jeans for him, dropping the white rag on the floor beside him.

It takes Rush nearly a minute to realize what Young just used to clean him.

“Is that my T-shirt?” he asks, outraged. He stands up from the table. 

Young gives him an unrepentant look. “You brought this completely on yourself, Rush.” 

“You are such a—” he starts, but Young is squinting at him, _laughing_ at him, and then he's pulling Rush's face closer, kissing him deeply, and Rush decides to schedule his revenge for later.

Because right now, all he wants is more of this.


End file.
